


Worms are the Words

by A_Feast_For_Condors



Category: Fallout 4, Fallout New Vegas
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Feast_For_Condors/pseuds/A_Feast_For_Condors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are falling apart in the Commonwealth, but this is not new. There are rumors going around of a bloodthirsy maniac killing raiders, a demon that haunts the mountains, and a traitor in the ranks of the Brotherhood of Steel. Elder Maxson has also fallen mysteriously and gravely ill, and Maureen (F!SS) is dispatched by the Brotherhood to Goodneighbor to inquire after the services of a travelling doctor with extensive esoteric knowledge and a knack for charming totalitarian warlords.</p><p>Some warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, stories of past romantic embarrassments (poor Arthur), very dramatic ArthurxDanse scenes, and lots of pining for the past. Major character death also.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maureen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story based on my first character in FO4: Maureen. Some warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, implied past romantic embarrassments, very dramatic ArthurxDanse scenes, and lots of pining for the past. Major character death also. The Title is taken from a line of poetry be e. e. cummings. I'm a very slow updater, but I do write a lot. Enjoy! :) 
> 
> Notes on Maureen: Lesbian soldier with a now dead lawyer wife. As far as she knows, she's the "sole" survivor, but there's a surprise waiting for her somewhere in the Commonwealth. :)
> 
> (Not beta-ed)

Maureen

“So. Blue. You got a minute?”

“Oh, you know me. I’m an object of desire, always busy. But, for a pretty little thing like you, I reckon I can find a spare minute,” Maureen put her wrench down and turned away from her power armor. “Do you need help with something?”

“Well, no. I mean yes. Not exactly,” Piper was doing that thing with her hands, the flailing gesture she made when she was trying to preemptively placate someone she was using for personal gain. Maureen, having become accustomed to Piper’s nuances, sighed with resignation.

“What do you want, Piper?” Maureen fell back on her rump and tucked her legs to her chest, looking expectantly at her favorite flustered reporter. She felt a surge of warm, protective affection when the girl broke out into a nervous grin, and resigned herself to doing whatever it was that Piper wanted with her. Besides, Whatever cause Piper had decided to champion this week was bound to be more amusing than trying to dodge Preston while hanging around Sanctuary. 

“Well…” she leaned in conspiratorially, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was paying attention. Deacon was. Piper continued anyway, seeing as he was the one who gave her the clue in. “It’s just that… there’s a bunch of rumors going around Diamond City that the mysterious Elder of Steel has fallen ill. You know, something nasty. Terminal. I mean, just last week a whole cluster of jackasses in power armor showed up to interrogate Doc Sun. Couple of traders passing through said the same thing was happening at Bunker Hill, and Covenant. Ended up just taking off with supplies, though. Anyway, you’ve got your “ins” in the Brotherhood, and I was hoping you could help me get the scoop.”

This gave Maureen pause. _Maxson, ill?_

But, as she thought on it, she realized that Danse hadn’t been clanking around Sanctuary trying to lecture the tato vines about twining protocol (or whatever it was he did) for nearly two weeks now. And there were a conspicuous amount of vertibirds buzzing to and fro between the old abandoned medical facilities rather than patrolling their usual routes.

Maureen tried to let no amusement pass over her features at the thought of fucking Maxson sniffling miserably into a handkerchief as he waited for some poor squire to bring him tea, or barking stuffed up orders at a team of armored Paladins to scour the Commonwealth for any and all traces of TheraFlu. At first she wanted to laugh. It’s not as though the Brotherhood of Steel weren’t known for being a little alarmist, or blowing things _ever so fucking slightly out of proportion_ , but really. Sending a whole armed squad to Diamond City just to get some fucking stimpacks and mutfruit juice seemed to be wasteful overkill, one that Maxson would not allow for.

There had to be something else wrong. And goddamn if Maureen wasn’t curious.

Piper seemed ready for a fight on this one. Her hands were balled at her sides, and she looked like she was about to unleash a fury of poorly reasoned points on how the press had the right to dig into and subsequently eviscerate someone’s personal life for the sake of truth when Maureen cut her off.

“Sure thing, Piper.”

“Wait, what? Are you serious, or…? Oh! You are!” Piper gave a shaky laugh as the tension in her body uncoiled into her usual, slightly awkward stance. “I was expecting you to at least, you know, try and convince me not to bring down the Brotherhood from the inside with the sheer force of my mighty intellect. But I’ll take cooperation where I can get it.”

Maureen matched Piper’s fond smile. 

Piper was the first person she ended up travelling with in the Commonwealth after setting up Preston and the others with Codsworth in Sanctuary, and goddamn if there wasn't a tender spot in Maureen's heart for her. 

Maureen had known journalists before the war, but had few good things to say about them, remembering instead the dreadful ways they used to spin her wife’s cases to the public, gutting both the defence and the prosecution indiscriminately for the sake of selling a story. The press, the vultures armed with shrewd calculating pens and flashing camera bulbs, had little care for the truth. But Piper was different, or at least Maureen told herself she was. The girl really did seem like she was in it for the people, not the fame.

Maureen stood. “Alright, get your shit together. We’ll meet by the water pumps in 15. I have something to do first.”  
_________________________________________________________________

Preston was dicking around with the razorgrain when Maureen found him, and fuck if she could figure out what he was futzing with in there, it certainly wasn’t ready to harvest. Hearing her approach, he turned and tipped his hat to her, offering her a warm smile.

“General. Nice day, huh?” Preston’s white smile was the softest crescent moon against the dark sky of his features, hanging steady and calm, though his eyes were storm weathered. Maureen inclined her head.

“I would say so. Not a drop of rain in sight.”

Preston’s smile twisted a little, now part grimace. “You know what I’m about to say, don’t you?”

Maureen heaved a sigh. “So help me, if it’s the Finches again, I’ll put that Shishkebab right through Abraham’s grubby beard…”

“General!”

“Only joking, Preston.” _Right? Right…_

“Ah,” he said, with an air of dubiousness. “Sure. But, it’s not the Finches this time, Ma’am. It’s the caravans that travel the northern route, over by Zimonja Outpost. They’re all reporting something...unusual.”

“Oh? What sort of...unusual?” 

Preston’s face grew dark and troubled like it had been in Concord, a look that Maureen had long since decided was incredibly unbefitting of him. Her brows knit together as she watched him say, “You know the raiders who used to squat out there? The ones with the Fat Man?”

Maureen remembered them intimately. She nodded. 

“Well, they--they all just disappeared. Completely gone. Their radio is dark, caravans are passing through the area without any trouble, and no one has reported narrowly dodging a stray mininuke in weeks. Now, before you ask what’s wrong with all of this, I have to get to the crazy part. All of the caravans who passed through the area had one thing in common in their reports… They said that in the distance, they saw huge pillars of smoke and the silhouette of a demon cast against the mountainside. Some kind of creature with the head of a beast and the body of a man.”

Maureen allowed the shock to wash over her face before she burst out laughing. “A demon? _A fucking demon?!_ With the head of a beast? HA! Oh, come on, Preston. We don’t have time for this.”

Preston shook his head and put his hands up. “I’m just repeating what they said to me, General. Hell, for all I know, those caravan guards were passing around some new kind of jet or something. But, General, I gotta admit that something feels...off about this. For a whole raider outpost to just go dark without any reason...”

“I never took you for the sort to believe in ghost stories.”

Preston’s laugh returned. “Believe me, ma’am, when you travel any distance with Mama Murphy, you’d be surprised what you’ll end up believing.” Maureen thought of Mama Murphy in her chair, talking about Valentine’s agency and Skinny Malone, and was inclined to agree. “Anyway, you looked like you wanted to tell me something before.”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Our resident reporter has sniffed out a story with the Brotherhood, so we’re gonna head up to the Prydwen to see if she can’t bring some journalistic justice to everyone’s favorite pseudo-militaristic crusaders.”

Preston let out a low whistle. “Sounds serious. Be sure to keep a careful eye on her. You know, so she stays well out of trouble,” he winked knowingly as he turned away from her, returning to his ministrations with the razorgrain. Maureen had half a mind to elbow him for his insubordinance, but it wasn’t often that Preston showed a sense of humor, so she let it slide. 

As she was leaving, Preston called over his shoulder, “You may not believe in ghost stories, General, but I definitely think something strange is up. Keep an eye out, is all I’m saying.”

Maureen waved in response. “For a demon with the head of a beast. Yep.”

She chuckled all the way to the water pumps, but couldn’t for the life of her shake the smoky tendrils of dread which clung to her thoughts. She tried to rationalize it for the briefest of instances, that her anxiety was due to the sudden strangeness of the request, before resigning herself to the idea that it was merely the look on Preston’s face that was haunting her, that anything that made her friend confront even the slightest traces of sorrow had to be executed, with gusto, and, preferably, with fire.

_But…_

But Piper’s voice had cut through her reverie with lethal precision, clearing the smoke from round Maureen’s temples. 

She was waiting dutifully for her by one of the empty lots, a pack slung over her shoulder and a pad of paper clutched in one hand, and the smile she flashed Maureen pierced right through the armor she had on over her vault suit and settled in the depth of her chest, crowding her heart for room. 

“ _Cedimus,_ ” Mama Murphy chuckled at Maureen from her chair as the latter stalked by.

“Crazy old bag,” was what Maureen said under her breath in response. 

“Ha! Don’t try to pull one over on Mama. You’ve had arrows stickin’ out of your chest since you came back from Diamond City. I see ‘em plain as day. Hey. Bring Mama back some Day Tripper, kid. I’ll make it worth your while.”


	2. Piper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, we meet the crew of the Prydwen in this chapter! This one is pretty slow compared to the other two I have nearly completed, but this is a better idea as to the length that you can expect. The next POV chapter (this one being Piper's) is Danse. I'm planning for each character to have their own POV chapter, with all the little plots weaving together in the end, but that is subject to change.

Piper

Maureen seemed off today.

Not that she was ever particularly cheerful, but, usually, she at least had some snide commentary to accompany Piper’s update on her latest tirade in Diamond City. This week was a pretty good one, too, Piper thought. It involved an illustrious affair between Darcy Pembroke and Henry Cooke, and the subsequent mysterious disappearance of Diamond City’s Elitist Bartender in Residence, to which Maureen offered only a slightly guilty looking cringe.

“Hey, Blue? You okay? You seem a little…” Piper made a noncommittal sound rather than bother to try and choose the right word. Upset wasn’t right, and she was no more distant and aloof than usual… Distracted, maybe?

Maureen looked at her fully now, the first time since they boarded the gunship. She looked like she was about to make a snide comment, but swallowed it and offered Piper a small, placating smile instead.

“It’s nothing, sweet thing.” Bullshit...

Piper pressed her lips together, not believing her. “You’re, uh, not _worried_ about Maxson, are ya?” she tried to make it sound playful, and no, definitely not jealous. _I refuse to be jealous of Maxson until he gets a haircut. If I lose to that, it’s my own damn fault._

Maureen actually choked on her laughter, causing the pilot to give her a dirty glance.

“Fucking no,” she said, still biting back giggles. “I’m not _worried_ about Maxson.”

“Well, _something’s_ up. You should know better than to hide the truth from me, it only encourages bad behavior.”

Shit, that didn’t come out right. But it made Maureen smirk, and something flashed behind her eyes for an instant that made a small stem of heat unfurl in the pit of Piper’s stomach. It faded quickly enough, and Maureen began adjusting her dry red hair that was tucked away in her customary I-Don’t-Have-Time-For-This-Shit bun. She looked as though she was mulling something over.

“Bluuue…” 

“Stop wheedling, you fucking pest,” she said, without malice.

“Bluuuuuue…”

“Ugh, look, it’s just… It’s not important, alright? It’s just something silly, and I mean really fucking silly, that Preston said to me before I left.” 

“Oh? Like what?” Piper was genuinely interested. Garvey was a pretty straight shooter, not the sort to lead someone on for the hell of it. Whatever this was, it was bound to be good. _Breaking News: Minutemen Announce Master Plan to Join Forces With the Institute? The Railroad is Actually a Front for Synth Trafficking? The Brotherhood of Steel Gets a Fucking Clue?_

Maureen sighed and looked at her, chewing her bottom lip. “Look, promise not to, you know, run away with this? Like a fucking reporter?”

_Damn. She’s onto me._

Piper put her notebook in her pack and tucked her pen behind her ear. She raised her hands in mock surrender. “We’re completely off the record here, Blue. Promise.” Maybe.

Maureen sighed again and looked out the window. “He said that Zimonja Outpost, the raider hub, has gone completely dark, and that there's been sightings of a demon in the mountains surrounding it. One with the head of a beast and the body of a man,” She was smiling as she said it, but it was a wry twist of her features, bearing no amusement. 

Piper raised an eyebrow. “A demon,” she repeated.

“According to the caravan hands that Preston talked to, yes.”

“Half beast?”

“Half man, yeah.”

“Riiiiight... Are you going to, uh… Investigate these claims of haunted hills?” Piper beamed as she said it, and wondered why Nora seemed so bothered by something so stupid.

“No. Well, I mean, I’m gonna look into what happened to the settlement, but I’m not expecting to see Anubis or anything. Sounds like some bad chems, if you ask me.”

“Seems reasonable. So, are we heading out there after our stop aboard this great fortress of steel?” _Or, better yet, great fortress of penile compensation..._

Maureen paused and looked at Piper for a critical second before returning her stare out the window. “I’m not taking you, sweet thing,” she said softly, seemingly more to herself.

Piper tried to mask the disappointment in her voice. “Cutting me loose, Blue?”

“It’s nothing personal. It’s just that, whatever this is, it’s giving Preston the heebie-fucking-jeebies,” Maureen had to talk over Piper’s fit of giggles when she said, “And I think there might be more to this than some chemmed out caravan guards. It’s not often that a settlement just goes dark without any reports of gunfire or anything, especially one with raiders as active as the ones at Zimonja.”

Piper considered the implications of this properly now. She leaned in and asked gravely, “Are you saying you think this may have been an Institute job?”

Maureen shrugged, now back to her normal aloof self. “No idea, but whatever it is, it doesn’t require your distinct array of… skills. Not to downplay the _appeal_ of your assets, of course,” Maureen’s words had Piper blushing madly. She had no idea how she was meant to interpret that innocently when Maureen breathed out words like smoke.

Piper, not wanting to let Maureen know she’d hit a mark, opened her mouth to counter, but instead of any trace of wit found a nearly incoherent stream of words pour out to expose her. “But, you can’t! Go alone, I mean. You know, not to say you’re incompetent, or anything. Because you’re not, trust me, you’re very good at shooting things, but not good enough to start running around on your own.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. I’ll probably see what Danse is up to. Guy’s always up for a scrap. But, lo and behold, dearest, don't let me distract you. We arrive at King Arthur’s castle in the fucking sky,” Maureen gestured out the window, with a slightly sour expression. 

Sure enough, as Piper pressed her cheek to the glass, she saw the great steel ship hurtling ever larger into focus. She let her mouth drop open at the sheer mass of the thing up close. It dwarfed even the walls of Diamond City, and for the first time on the gunship ride Piper swallowed her fear and allowed herself to look down at the ground below, marveling at the the way the Prydwen hurled her massive elliptical shadow across the entire airport.

“She’s a magnificent sight, isn’t she?” the pilot said fondly, clearly noticing Pipers awe.

Piper couldn’t find words, or properly close her mouth for that matter, so she nodded mutely as the gunship docked with a great lurch. She must have been staring for ages at the soldiers in power armor moving effortlessly in formation despite their heft, because somehow Maureen had managed to snatch the pen from behind her ear and stuff it sidelong into her mouth. She was chortling as Piper sputtered, and motioned for her to follow her out. 

A severe looking man in dark captain’s garb was waiting to greet them in front of the flight of stairs that presumably lead to the ship's main deck. He greeted Maureen with a ridiculous salute, one that nearly gave Piper an aneurysm as reward for her effort in holding back a sarcastic comment. He then proceeded to regard Piper as an unpleasant afterthought, and the look he gave her following his swift up-and-down assessment was not an impressed one.

“Civilians aren’t allowed on the Prydwen, knight. It’s against protocol. You know this.”

“This civilian is special, Captain Kells. If you have a problem, take it up with Maxson,” and she brushed by him. Piper remained astounded at the proverbial balls Maureen displayed sometimes, and she cast this Captain Kells an apologetic look as she hurried to follow. Her efforts were met with the same, snide stare. 

“Friendly bunch, this Brotherhood,” she grumbled after Maureen had shut the heavy door behind them with a resounding clang.

Maureen seemed distracted again, but this time it was easier to see why. She was staring into an expansive room that was lined on one end with large, dirty windows that overlooked the Commonwealth, and on the other ends with large, dirty couches decorated with empty bottles and ashtrays. 

“You, uh, looking for something, there, Blue? Or are you just taking in the impressive decour...?”

“Maxson… It’s broad daylight, and Maxson isn’t on the command deck,” she raised her eyebrows. “He might actually be fucking dying.” 

Maureen then motioned for Piper to climb a steel ladder, one that looked large enough to accommodate the massive bulk of power armor. 

“Come on. Protocol dictates that I introduce you to the head honchos your first time aboard. You already met Lancer Captain Kells, I think he flies this fucking thing, but who fucking knows, amiright?”

“Ooooh, giving a lady the full tour, are we? I feel spoiled,” Piper offered a hand to Maureen as she climbed out of the manhole after her, and Maureen seemed all too happy to oblige even though she clearly needed no help. For good measure, she was sure to give Piper a low bow, never breaking eye contact, while waggling one eyebrow suggestively.

“Thanks, Blue. I see you’ve really taken Deacon’s charm school to heart,” Piper hoped she wasn’t blushing, because Maureen definitely didn’t seem phased, although in fairness, she looked aloof when they were being chased down by Swann.

“Soldier! Come here at once!”

Piper craned her head around to see a tall, thin man dressed in a blue frock coat poking his head into the corridor. His severe brow was set under a faint tracing of lines, and presided over cold eyes that peered over his thick glasses. He motioned gravely to Maureen.

“That is Proctor Quinlan, head of the Order of the Nerds,” Nora had swooped in to whisper this information in her ear, caring nothing for personal space boundaries or human decency as per usual.

“That what’s on the official coat of arms?” 

Maureen only smirked as she brushed past her, motioning with her head for Piper to follow. Trailing behind her into a little nook of a room that was cluttered with papers and boxes of holotapes, Piper managed to fail spectacularly at stifling a burst of laughter. 

In the empty center of the room was laid out, on a startlingly white tarp, a huge collection of comic books. Each individual pile was pristinely stacked, all the Grognaks on one end and all the Silver Shrouds on the other, creating a snow-framed myriad of faded hue to contrast the stagnant, metallic shade of the Prydwen’s decks. Around the tarp paced Proctor Quinlan, his hand on his chin, and his delicate browline furrowed as grumbled under his breath.

Maureen was laughing, too. “Always a fucking adventure on the Prydwen. You’re not a boring lot, I’ll give you that. Are those _your_ fucking comic books, Quinlan?”

The man in blue rounded on her, looking like a cat who’s had just about enough of it’s owner’s affection. “They are, indeed, knight, and if you’d be so kind as to address me properly, and without profanity, _it would be greatly appreciated_.”

Maureen only snorted in response, folding her arms and shifting her weight to show her impatience. 

“Um, is there something wrong? Or is he always this...charming?” Piper asked. Quinlan turned to her then, as if just noticing her.

“A civilian? Highly against protocol, knight, but I suppose you have your ways,” Quinlan had a funny drawl, one that sounded a little like Cait’s, but sharper and softer all at once, like broken glass on linen. He inclined his head and pressed his lips into a thin line as he regarded her, eyes flicking up and down. Then he surprised her by offering a slight bow of his head as he said smoothly, “Well, in any event, welcome to the Prydwen. I trust you will make yourself at home, to whatever extent that you can…”

“What did you want, _Proctor Quinlan_ , sir?” 

Quinlan didn’t seem phased by Maureen’s mocking as he sauntered back to his stack of books, lost in his thoughts. He then looked at her sidelong.

“I’ve been robbed,” he said gravely. Piper, sensing a scoop, fished her notebook out of her pack, pen at the ready, and looked at Quinlan expectantly. _A Thief amongst Brothers? A Traitor in the Ranks?_ With a languid, swooping gesture, Quinlan appealed to the collection on the floor. 

He began pacing again, tucking one slender hand into the small of his back, as he said, “I’ve worked hard for this, knight. Scouring and collecting across several wastelands, tirelessly searching bombed out libraries and book shops… And after all that, all the times I’ve compensated scribes for their efforts, all the times I allowed them to browse my wares, they repay me by making off with one of my most prized and valuable editions.”

Now that he pointed it out, when Piper looked back at the tapestry of comics she noticed there was a conspicuous, rectangular spot of white tarp poking out among perfectly ordered columns. She chanced a look at Maureen, but knew before she saw that her partner would be regarding this ridiculous man with an expression that mingled both incredulity and amusement. _And, is that... a little fondness?_

“You wanna press fucking charges, Quinlan? Let me dust off my wife’s old law books for you,” Maureen said dryly, although she seemed ready to humor him.

“I hardly think ancient tomes will be of any use against modern Brotherhood litany. We have our Disciplinary Protocol,” he huffed. Quinlan then closed the space between himself and Maureen, his hands flying to her shoulders. “Where our problem arises, knight, is that Elder Maxson feels that no investigation is in order! He wouldn’t even permit me search the recruits’ lockers! He seems to think the issue...trivial.”

“What a fucking square. Think this warrants a mutiny, or--”

Piper cut in before Maureen could go on, hoping that her partner’s superiors in the Brotherhood were familiar with her dry humor, lest the two of them become intimately familiar with Disciplinary Protocol. “Are there any suspects? Anyone with a motive?”

Quinlan sighed. “There are any number of Scribes and Initiates who come through here seeking documentation, and, on many occasions, entertainment. Sadly, it could very well be any of them. I suppose I will simply have to keep a closer eye on my pupils, and resign myself to this tragic loss. That being said,” he regarded Maureen now, who was still laughing under her breath. “I was hoping that in your escapades out in that godforsaken wasteland, you could keep a weather eye out for a replacement. Be assured that you would be compensated, handsomely.”

The quirk of Maureen's eyebrow betrayed her interest, though the rest of her face was her usual mask of boredom. “What am I looking for, exactly?”

Quinlan cleared his throat, seeming a little sheepish for the first time since this ridiculous ordeal began. “It’s a special addition. One of, ah, sentimental value for me. _Grognak_ , Issue No. 37. _Ravenna and the King of Birds._ ”

“Yeah, sure, I know the one. Has a condor on the cover, and a girl in a feathered black dress.” Maureen was nodding as she remembered. “My wife used to have it. She loved it.” There was a flash of distant sorrow that slipped over Maureen’s features before they were schooled back to normal, and it made Piper want desperately to reach out for her hand. Then, as if it never happened, her tone turned mocking again, and, taking care to roll her ‘r’s, she purred, “Apparently it’s a _rrromance._ ”

“I’ll have none of your sass, knight.”

“If I remember correctly, the beautiful feathered princess Ravenna eloped with everyone’s favorite medieval meathead, only to be pursued by her father, the King of Birds, causing a war among the old gods... Looking for your princess, Proctor?” Maureen teased.

Quinlan sniffed in response. “You clearly haven’t read it.” Then he turned away from them, and began tenderly putting each issue back into its plastic sleeve and placing it in it’s respective box with the same affection and care with which Piper put Nat to bed. 

“Dismissed, knight,” he said as an afterthought.

Maureen flipped him off behind his back, and proceeded to shuffle Piper out of Quinlan’s nook.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Maureen had Piper by the elbow, not dragging her, per se, but keeping her steadily at her side as they made their way down the long corridor that opened up into the dining area. She was explaining something that Piper was only half listening to, choosing instead to focus on Maureen’s smooth, pale fingers curling round her arm like eager vines. 

“What’s a condor?” Piper blurted out when Maureen paused to search the crowds of people bustling around on the main deck. 

“Hm? Oh. It’s a type of bird. Or, it was a type of bird. Huge. Black. Great big fucking wings,” Maureen trailed off, clearly searching for someone. “Where the hell is Ingram?” she finally asked a passing scribe. 

“She’s down at the airport, ma’am, preparing something for Elder Maxson,” the girl responded, and continued on her way without even looking at Piper. 

“Ugh, fuck me, _not more projects_ …” Something about Maureen's tone told Piper that whatever this “project” was, it wouldn’t bode well for the Commonwealth in the long run. Piper was about to open her mouth when Maureen said, “Welp. You might as well meet Teagan while we’re here. He’s kind of an asshole, but that’s why I like him.”

They passed through the dining area without interruption, and Piper chanced a look up. The roof of the airship vaulted above her, creaking and groaning with the weight of the wind. Voices and machinery reverberated around and above, loud and distant all at once, the cadences mixing together into a strange metallic music.

Amidst the clanking and groaning, Piper was able to distinguish a voice she recognized, firm and gruff, with a predatory sort of protectiveness that roiled under stiff protocol. 

Except-- the Danse that Piper was accustomed to, the one who stared four City guards into submission all at once when they dared make fun of his precious Elder, the one who's cold, furious presence was enough to make Gunners and Raiders alike turn tail and flee instead of fight, was nowhere in sight. 

Instead, standing outside a huge metal cage, was some Institute synth replacement who was on an unhinged rampage. Danse was out of his power armor, his hair sticking out in all directions without his stupid hood. He was covered in ash and blood. But perhaps the most unusual aspect of this picture was that Danse was shouting, actually shouting, at the poor bastard sitting inside the cage.

“...easily the most irresponsible, careless thing _you have ever done, Teagan!_ ” 

The man called Teagan yelled back, with the same vigor, “It’s not my fault you and your squad are apparently incapable of inspecting equipment before you use it!”

“It’s your fucking job, _you bilge rat!_ ” Danse slammed what was apparently a malfunctioning weapon on the counter.

_Whoa._ Piper reckoned it was lucky for Teagan that he was behind that cage, because Danse looked as if he were about to attempt, in a Deathclaw-like fashion, to roar and take the door off its rusty hinges and force feed Teagan his own defective laser pistol. 

Piper let her mouth fall open and exhale a breath of stunned laughter and, failing to notice Maureen had frozen in her tracks, plowed right into her back with a graceless “oof!”. There was already a small cluster gathered several yards behind Danse, with more trailing off from their duties to come and ogle the commotion. 

“My team and I came under fire and expected to use our Brotherhood issued weapons in combat, apparently fooling ourselves into thinking that they’d do what they were designed to! _Perhaps_ the head of the Order of the Sword, whose duty is to maintain military technology and provide his Brothers with arms, may actually have taken heed to the oath he swore, _and done his goddamn job_?!”

“Don’t you fucking start with me about oaths, Paladin,” Teagan spat the word. “Without Elder fucking Maxson, you and this entire pathetic chapter would still be jerking off that dickhead Lyons out in the Capital fucking Wastelands, scraping Mutant shit off your boots and pretending it was what the Founders wanted!”

At the mention of Maxson’s name, Danse’s fists had balled up and he had taken two very deliberate steps forward, looking as though the sheer force of his rage would melt the steel bars encasing the Proctor. Teagan took notice of this, and his lips curled into a yellowed smile like an old dagger being unsheathed. 

“But I bet Maxson knows all about jerking off Elder Lyons, doesn’t he?” he hissed, seeming to relish the instant of calm before the firestorm of Danse’s rage came to blows against the metal bars. 

“HOW. DARE. YOU. Rrrrgh! Open this door!” 

Piper tugged on Maureen’s arm, now fearing for Teagan’s life, but to her dismay, Maureen was already in the process of completely forgetting herself, allowing every drop of amusement and glee coursing through her to leak into her expression. “This is fucking beautiful,” was all she said, and Piper could have swore that her eyes were a little misty.

Teagan made no indication he was going to budge, choosing instead to brace his weight against the counter, and, with his head in his hands, exaggeratedly pretend to flinch every time Danse’s fists made contact with the cage.

“Uh… Danse? Hey, Danse? If you don’t cool it soon, you might pop a blood vessel,” Piper hadn’t realized she stepped forward until she spoke, and for an instant she thought she had finally done it when Danse turned on her in his fury, chest heaving and fists clenched.

He calmed visibly when he heard Nora forsake all composure, cackling with heaving breaths behind them. Finally, took a few steps away from Teagan, who was now crossing his eyes, making raspberries with his tongue, and pounding on his head with his hands, making the crowd of squires and initiates ripple with laughter. 

“Why the hell is everyone just standing around? Back to your duties immediately,” Danse’s tone offered no room for argument, and Piper was amazed at the speed at which the crowd dispersed. 

“Baaah. That’s all the effort you’re gonna put into defending our Elder’s virtue? For shame, Paladin.” Teagan actually seemed put out, but not out of indignance for Maxson’s reputation. Piper reckoned he must be a little off in the head what with being stuck in a metal cage all day, and may be a little suicidal, right? The little voice in his head that says to jump whenever he’s near a cliff speaks just a bit louder in his head than everyone else’s.

“Make certain you know, Teagan, that I will deal with you later,” Danse growled, and turned to Maureen. “Knight. What are you doing here? Were you called in for a mission?” Something about Danse seemed...defensive. He certainly didn’t seem happy to see either of them here, but that wasn’t unusual.

“Mm,” was what Maureen countered with. 

Danse raised an eyebrow. “Chatty today, I see.”

“Mm.”

Piper rolled her eyes and began to explain they were here to investigate rumors about Elder Maxson being ill, but was cut off by Danse swiftly seizing her arm and dragging her bodily into a small alcove to the left of the cage, eyes fierce, and demanding her to expose her sources.

“Whoa, Danse! I’d say buy a lady a drink first, but, you know, ew. No offense,” Piper thought she was doing an exceptional job at hiding her abject terror in the face of the closest attempt to a tank that human biology could muster.

“Yeah, Danse, _what gives_?” Maureen had advanced on them like a lioness, her eyes, never blinking, beginning to disappear under the intense furrow of her brow as she ducked her head slightly. Her hands unfurled over each other in a fluid, tumbling motion, exposing with a swift refraction of light the steel of two combat knives she had hidden up her sleeves. 

While she didn’t point them at him, Danse seemed to understand the breadth of his transgression, and took an obvious step away from Piper, releasing her arm, but continuing to fix her with his intent stare. 

“Take it easy, Blue,” Piper said, eyeing the knives nervously. Maureen was one to escalate situations to irreparable levels, and Piper was barely packing today. _I gotta give it to her, though. She’s got flare._

“You know me. I’m just a fucking show off, is all,” Maureen was still looking at Danse like she was daring him to try something.

“There’s no need for hostility, knight,” Danse said stiffly.

“Oh, fucking really?” 

“Blue! Relax, yeah?” Piper leaned back against a metal locker, pulling her pad and pen out of her coat pocket. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know, if you tell me what you know. How bout that, Dansey?”

“No deal,” he said resolutely. He also seemed to balk at the use of the nickname, one coined very affectionately by Hancock one drunken night in Sanctuary when he was still trying to “get close enough to see if his ass is really sculpted from marble.” Trying times.

“Oh, come on! Don’t you want to plug up the leaks in your information network? Clearly someone’s not keeping their mouth shut,” Piper knew it was a long shot, but to her surprise Danse actually seemed to consider it. 

He was silent for about a minute, chewing his bottom lip and sighing through his nose, before he finally seemed to cave. 

“Look. All I’ll tell you is, yes, Elder Maxson has fallen ill. But he’s fine. He’s still in command and very much in charge of his faculties. There should be no doubt in his leadership, regardless of rumors. Now. Tell me how you found out.”

_Hmmm. Not much to go on, but enough for speculation._

“What sort of illness is it?” Piper asked, making a note on her pad.

“None of your business, civilian.”

“How long has he had it?”

“Not your concern.”

“Anyone else in the Brotherhood displaying the same symptoms?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Has Elder Maxson been away from the blimp recently?”

“The Prydwen is a rigid dirigible, and that’s classified.”

“Are there any signs of a cure?”

“That is Brotherhood of Steel business.”

“...”

“...”

“Does he like cats, or dogs?”

“Cats. Dogs drool too much, and they make him sneeze. Is there anything else you two want?”

Piper sighed. _Not exactly a treasure trove of information. But at least my suspicions have been confirmed: The Brotherhood of Steel have no taste._ “Any way I could get a personal interview?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Bet you I can get you in,” Maureen chimed in.

Piper smiled. “I wouldn’t bet against you even if I was a gambling gal.”

“That’s because you’re smart, sweet thing. Dansey, on the other hand…” Maureen was folding her knives back into her sleeves, but her eyes were still seething with intensity.

Danse narrowed his gaze, regarding Maureen with disdain. “I’m no gambler, knight, and I think now may be a perfect time to remind you of your rank.”

Maureen burst into laughter, and Danse looked ready to haul out and punch her. Piper decided now it was probably best cut her losses and make a retreat back to Diamond City. She grabbed Maureen by the collar of her vault suit and pulled her toward the ladder to the main deck, leaving Danse glowering behind them.  
_____________________________________________________________________

“Hey!” Maureen said in the mess hall, pulling herself out of Piper’s grip. “I wasn’t done with him!”

“Uh, yeah, Blue. You kinda were. I think you pissed him off sufficiently for the day,” Piper sighed.

“I still needed to ask him to investigate Zimonja Outpost with me,” Maureen said pointedly, shifting weight onto one side and crossing her arms.

“Were you having some kind of out of body experience for the last ten minutes? Maybe you lapsed into a fugue state? You pulled a knife on the man! Two, even,” Piper reminded her sternly.

“He--” Maureen started wildly, then paused. “He grabbed you,” was all she said. She didn’t seem to want to make eye contact.

Piper’s expression softened. “So? You can't just go pulling knives on people. I’m no stranger to manhandling, Blue. I’m alright. Promise.”

Maureen scoffed. “Still. It’s not like I was gonna stab him or anything. Believe it or not, I kinda like the guy. Well, I like his ass at least,” she began walking again, and Piper fell in step, giving her an incredulous look.

As they approached the ladder leading down to the flight deck, one of the steel doors swung open, and out shuffled someone who was obviously a medic, dressed in starched white and carrying a clipboard. _Only medics carry clipboards. Who else has the time?_

He fixed his gaze on Maureen, though it seemed to take him a second to recognize her. “Oh! Knight! Greetings. You have business aboard the Prydwen?” He shut the door behind him swiftly. _Wait, did he just lock it?_

He must have, because before Piper could introduce herself, Maureen blurted out, “Does Maxson want you to lock all visitors inquiring about his illness out of his quarters? Or does he have some kind of werewolf disorder, and you need to lock him _in_ his quarters?” 

The doctor looked like Maureen had managed to reach across the few yards separating them and backhand him square in the jaw. He then made swift motions with his hands in an attempt to shush her, and beckoned them forward, whispering, “How did you find out?! And, for heaven’s sake, keep your voice down!”

“But, Cade, I thought there were no secrets in the Brotherhood!” Maureen all but shouted, now attracting the attention of passing scribes and knights. 

The man called Cade glared at Maureen with fierce intensity. “I order you to keep your voice down, knight.”

To Piper’s surprise, Maureen rolled her eyes, but didn’t sass him. “Is he dying?” she said coldly.

“No. I don’t think so,” Cade sighed, running his hand over his bald head. He seemed exhausted. “Actually, it’s good that you’re here. He was asking after your whereabouts a few days ago.”

Maureen nudged Piper. “He digs me, you see.”

“It’s your animal magnetism.”

Maureen shrugged and nodded her agreement. Piper thumped her with her notebook. 

Cade rolled his eyes while procuring a small brass key from his coat pocket. He held the key up within Maureen’s grasp. “You can go in and see him. He’s awake and doing well today, all things considered. But your friend must stay out here.”

Maureen was about to protest, when Cade said, “Or, you may wait to see him until you are alone.” 

Piper inclined her head toward the door, and moved aside to lean against a wall, displaying her consent to the situation. Maureen, seeming to have the permission she needed, moved toward the door Cade had come out of. Cade, catching her, said, “Do try to maintain some level of furtiveness regarding this matter in the future, hm?” And he handed her the key.

Maureen rolled her eyes and nodded, crouching down and exaggeratedly turning her head around to see if anyone was looking at her. As a scribe passed, she sprung up and flattened bodily against the wall, drawing more attention to herself and Cade in the process. When the bewildered girl had passed quickly, Maureen threw the steel door open and shouted “Stealth Maneuvers!” before dodge-rolling through the frame and crashing into Elder Maxson’s quarters.

Before she had managed to shut the door, Piper heard a low, gruff voice say, “Knight, we’ve talked about this before…”  
__________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time for Danse POV, where we explore his relationship with Maxson a lot more. Get ready for some sexy scenes~!


	3. Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dance gets a new assignment, stresses over his inadequacies, and has a dramatic confrontation with Arthur Maxson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long dry spell! But, I'm still writing and editing. Hopefully this is worth the wait. :)
> 
> Danse's POV. The plot has finally arrived! (Damn, I suck...)

A weight had dropped in the pit of Danse’s stomach when he had heard Maureen’s mad shrieks of laughter behind him. 

What the _hell_ was she doing on the Prydwen without assignment? If there was one controlled trait about that Knight, (besides a penchant for finely tuned devastation) it was that she didn’t report for duty over anything less than a personal assurance from Elder Maxson that there would be copious quantities of Institute blood to be spilled in the field. 

Or, now he thought on it, if there was prospect of her firing a Fatman whilst partially hanging out the side of a vertibird. 

So, given the circumstances, there was no reason to anticipate her arrival, and, consequently, no time to prepare for her; no time to tell the recruits to keep their mouths shut about the Elder’s current situation and to not attract any undue attention to Brotherhood affairs. And, perhaps most importantly, there was no time to warn any and everyone aboard to under no circumstances speak to that damn reporter in the red trenchcoat that Maureen toted around like a fashion statement.

And, of course, Piper had unceremoniously arrived as well, completely against protocol, poking and prying as was her wont. Danse found himself frequently impressed in a rather indecorous and savage manner that that muckraker had managed to make it into adulthood with all her limbs intact, let alone her life. 

“Paladin Danse…” 

As Danse had been glaring after Maureen and her pet reporter’s retreat from the hangar after their brief confrontation, Proctor Quinlan had approached gently from behind.

“Proctor Quinlan, sir. Is there something you need?”

“I heard shouting,” he ventured. 

“All the way from your nook?” Danse asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ease the dull throbbing of his migraine.

“No, in fact. I was looking in on Elder Maxson at the time…” Danse had the decency to cringe at that. “You know, Paladin, I hope you don’t consider this prying but --”

“It’s nothing, Proctor. I don’t want to discuss this again. I’m fine.”

Quinlan pursed his lips, but said nothing for a delicate minute. When he finally did speak up, his sentence began with, “Judging by your previous display…” Danse couldn’t bear to let him finish.

“I--look. I had a rough day in the field. We had an unfortunate incident with our equipment, and I lost my temper. I’ll find Teagan later and sort this out.” Danse hoped his tone implied no room for argument. 

Quinlan didn’t seem to be buying it. “I know you’re worried about Elder Maxson.”

“Of course I'm worried…” Danse grumbled into his hand, suddenly just wanting to go to sleep far away from here, back in his old quarters in the Citadel. As clear as the day it happened, he imagined Arthur propped against the bed railings, using Danse’s head as a book rest while drawing meandering circles on his shoulders with a distracted finger. For the most fleeting of instances, Danse felt as though that was still his existence, a life of heat and electricity trapped between sweaty sheets and Arthur’s flank. 

Danse forced the memory away, knowing that dwelling on old world blues would not make the gravity of their current situation dissipate. They had each other for nearly two years before Danse’s recon mission separated them. It was more than many lovers got to experience in the wasteland. It should have been enough.

“I only meant to ask -- erm. Have you seen him? Recently, I mean. Since he first -- collapsed.” 

There were a few seconds of blinding vertigo where Danse could not stand to look at anything, so he shut his eyes, but behind his lids was still the image of Arthur hunched over in his personal shower, skin glistening in the steam as he heaved wet ragged breaths through the streams of blood torrenting out of his mouth and nose. 

He had looked up though the parapets of vapor and met Danse’s eyes then, his face a mask of desperate agony as he grappled in vain at his bare chest, as though somehow opening his rib cage would provide some relief from the swarming havoc inside his lungs. Danse had even hesitated for a few seconds, watching with horror as Arthur’s eyes had begun to glaze over as he choked, his naked form falling sideways through the cascade of water against the tiles. 

Guilt writhed anew into Danse’s gut as he remembered the sound of Arthur smacking hard against ceramic, breath still coming out in wheezing whistles and his precious blood culminating in a pool at Danse’s feet.

“Paladin…?” came the Proctor’s voice, soft and aloof.

“I-- no. I haven’t been to see him since then. I’ve been busy.”

“Of this I’m sure. I would be pressed to find another on this ship who has been searching for a cure quite as thoroughly as you have. But, Paladin, I must admit to a certain degree of surprise at such an admission. Surely, you know that the Elder is, ahem... _desirous_ of your company…”

Danse fixed Quinlan with an icy look, before saying, “I am very much aware of my status with Elder Maxson. Do you have a point here, Proctor, or are you just bringing the past as a means of personal torture?”

The other man’s eyebrows shot up at this, and he unfolded his arms, an act that for Quinlan was as good as being disarmed. “I apologize, Paladin. I had not heard-- erm. I did not realize the matter was in the past at all. You’ll forgive me, I hope. It’s only that, the Elder has been...well, _asking_ after you. Rather incessantly, actually. It’s rapidly becoming a bore.” 

Danse let all the breath escape from him at the thought of Arthur hunched over in his bed, lonely and pining. For an instant he almost shoved past Quinlan and rushed to his quarters, but the thought of drawing any more attention to himself kept him rooted where he stood. 

That, and the reality of facing Arthur’s deterioration; facing his own failure to save the most important man on the entire east coast. “I’m… too busy to see him right now. I need to sleep.”

“I would agree with that assessment. But, Paladin, if I may suggest… Before you depart on your next mission with Knight Fingal, just, look in on him, won’t you?”

Danse didn’t want to confront the contorted mass of guilt and sorrow writhing in his chest, so he found something else to fixate on.

“Next mission? I’m not scheduled for any mission this following week, Proctor, save the continuation of my current objective.”

“Is that so? It would appear, then, that Knight Fingal and her little pet are mistaken, as I just overheard them talking in the mess hall. She seems to think the two of you are being shipped out to investigate...well, something or other.” Quinlan waved his hand dismissively, already on his way back to his nook. 

“Something or other?” Danse mumbled after him, growling in a moment of pure frustration that he suspected actually had little to do with Quinlan, though the carefree motions of the scribe’s delicate hands could perturb a monk into hurling a shoe at the man.

Danse began stalking his way to the power armor stations where his suit was jacked up, grumbling under his breath. He had the distinct impression that he owed Maureen’s obviously-more-than-friend an apology the next time he saw her, unwelcome though her presence today was. 

In all likelihood, she was not the source of the leaked information on Arthur's condition. How could she be? Such a breach in information had to have come from somewhere much closer to the interior, from someone who may even have personal consort with Arthur. The notion sent chills down Danse’s spine; the idea of someone capable of committing such disloyalty with easy access to Arthur’s food, his drink… his bed…

The last thought almost made him want to vomit, so he shook it from his temples. But as he walked, dread still clung about him like spider web. He could feel it trailing behind him in invisible wisps, saw initiates and scribes take obviously convoluted routes in order to avoid crossing his path, and after today, he could hardly blame them. He knew he was wreckage walking, burning hot from oil and carnage. 

“...don’t know why you’re so adverse to this.” Danse couldn’t help but catch the cadence of Knight Captain Cade’s voice, laden with uncharacteristic frustration. He hazarded a look into Cade’s office, hoping that it wouldn’t be another recruit with a ghoul-borne disease rotting our their loins. 

Only Cade was not in his office; he was chatting gravely to Quinlan across the hall, with the latter mingling condescension and boredom in his features like an old Roman statue.

“...and who’s to say it’s not worth looking into? I believe Elder Maxson would be in full agreement if he had all his faculties together; Maureen will be dispatched immediately to speak with the mayor. I believe she has history with him.”

“If you think such a venture will be worthwhile, then I’m certainly in no position to argue…” Quinlan sounded far from convinced, but he turned away from Cade to write something down on his desk. “But you must understand, this is a small lead. One that is in no way guaranteed to yield results…”

“A lead for what?” 

Both men froze and looked grimly at Danse as he folded his armor clad arms expectantly, although he was aware at this point that such a gesture only made him look absurd, as if he were trying to hug or smother some invisible person right in front of him. Nonetheless, he attempted some dignity. 

“A cure for Elder Maxson’s condition,” Cade said, observing Quinlan as the man searched through a stack of papers on his cluttered desk. 

Danse's temper flared. 

“Unless I’m operating under some drastic misconception, Proctor, I thought you had handed me all relevant information on the matter weeks ago, and that you had assured me beyond a shadow of a doubt that there were no other possibilities for a solution save for the locations which were enclosed in your initial report?”

Quinlan had the nerve to roll his eyes. “I lied.”

“You. Lied?” Danse said through clenched teeth.

“Indeed. I had thought the information meritless, and a likely dead end. Though it appears that Knight-Captain Cade objects to my assessment,” Quinlan’s movement to face him was laced with the accompaniment of fluttering papers, as was the case with every move he made in this place. His presence here had a tendency to fool one into thinking the room itself could breathe. 

“Laurence is too dismissive,” Cade said in Danse’s direction. Quinlan regarded him with momentary disdain, but handed him a bundle of folders all the same. “This lead is a member of the Followers of the Apocalypse. I know them from out West. They’ve got libraries so full of information, it’d make your blood boil to see the pointless shit they got up to with it.”

“Such as?” 

“Reconstructing dead languages, teaching settlers traditional irrigation and farming methods... According to Teagan, mandalas.”

“A _thoroughly_ impressive array of skills, to be sure. How is this helpful for Elder Maxson?” Quinlan huffed. 

Danse couldn’t help but wonder if the Proctor was being sarcastic. He’d never quite got the hang of recognizing it, despite the many times Arthur had labored to point it out. This time though, Danse was pretty sure he was being sincere, because he still wasn’t facing either Cade or himself down like a territorial bear confronting intruders in his den. 

Cade sighed, suddenly seeming as if hours worth of sleep deprivation came cascading down over his head all at once. He flipped through the pages in his hand and said, “Whatever this disease is, the good doctor may be able to recognize it, and give us some insight as to why none of our efforts to cure it have been successful.” 

It was good enough for Danse, so he made to snatch the papers away from Cade. 

“I’ll deliver these to Maureen.”

Cade looked satisfied and passed the papers over, but not before one last look downward at the ID photo gazing lifelessly up on the page. “Arcade Gannon,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “What a strange name…”

Quinlan lips tightened into a flat line at hearing the name out loud, and he averted his eyes from both Danse and Cade before saying, “Don’t get your hopes up. And, both of you, get the hell out of my nook.”

_____________________________________________________________________

 

Maureen’s friend was leaning against the wall outside of Danse’s quarters, smoking a cigarette and furiously scrawling something in a small red notebook. She looked up before he had the opportunity to politely clear his throat and gave him one of her bizarre little half smiles. Danse bowed his head and approached. 

“You, uh… feelin’ any better there, Danse?” 

“Yes, I suppose so. Listen, civilian, I owe you an apology for my inappropriate behavior before. I...shouldn’t have grabbed you, regardless of my personal issues.” Danse knew he was blushing, but hoped that his general radiation scarring and scruff was keeping him from looking too childish. 

The girl shrugged and returned to her writing. “Yeah, sure. No worries, big guy. Just, uh, next time? Try not to rumple a lady’s overcoat. It’s not very classy.” 

Danse laughed out his nose. “Duly noted.”

They sat in silence for a minute, with the reporter scribbling and Danse awkwardly adjusting the glove of his power armor, not entirely sure if this meant he was dismissed or not, or if they were still technically having a conversation. He shuffled. 

“It was nothing personal you know,” Danse said, earning him a puzzled look in response. “We in the Brotherhood always get a little apprehensive when around civilians, especially ones brought aboard the Prydwen. It’s--”

“-- _highly against protocol_ , yep, got it.” 

Finally, she put her pen away and regarded Danse. “Maureen will be out soon. She wanted to ask you about going to investigate something with her. Preston Garvey apparently said something about creepy stuff happening up in the Northern end of the Commonwealth? Said a raider settlement went completely dark with no sign of trouble, and there’s some ugly rumors about what did it.” 

Danse’s brows furrowed. “Ugly rumors?”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll fill you in later. She’s in there,” she gestured toward Arthur’s quarters. 

“She… Cade let her in?”

“Yep. Apparently Maxson’s been asking for her or something. She unlocked the door, I’m sure you can…”

Danse was moving before she finished her sentence, feeling panic that seemed to rear up out of nowhere. What was she saying to him? What were they doing? Should he interrupt? Maybe Arthur would only want to see him alone, but Danse knew better than that. The two of them alone was only bound to end...unproductively. 

He heaved a breath of resignation, and threw open the door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Elder Maxson, sir, but--” Danse nearly choked on his own spit at his sharp inhalation. 

Maureen had donned the Elder’s battlecoat, and was parading back and forth doing an incredibly insulting impression of him. Arthur, to his credit, was reclining in his bed, waiting patiently for her to finish, though there was no trace of amusement on his face. Upon the other man’s entrance, he regarded Danse with no small degree of intensity, though as usual, the emotion behind it was unreadable. 

“Paladin.” 

Danse swallowed thickly. “Arthur. Um. Elder Maxson,” he hurried to correct. 

“How dare you interrupt your superiors, recruit?” came Maureen’s voice, gruff and mocking. 

“Knight, _get the hell over here!_ ” Danse hissed. He gave Arthur an apologetic glance, mortified by her display.

“It’s quite alright, Paladin. I think she’s almost done. You missed the part where she picked dust off the floor and pretended it was my beard, though. Very amusing.” 

“Knight, that’s enough!” 

“Ugh, you can say that again,” Maureen was shrugging off Arthur’s coat already, laughing to herself. She draped it back over his chair. “That thing is fucking heavy.”

“It’s armored, Knight. The heaviness comes with the ballistic weave. Now. Are you quite sure you’re finished?” 

Maureen, looking put out, nodded and plopped herself down in one of Arthur’s chairs. “Yeah, yeah. You’re no fun.”

“I’ll have you know, Knight, yesterday I mismatched my socks.” Arthur’s voice was gravel from what Danse immediately recognized as a hangover. He looked exhausted, and very much like he was losing weight. Danse instinctively moved closer, hoping that it would go unnoticed by Maureen.

“Wow, Elder. I’ve clearly misjudged you. You’re a whirlwind of excitement,” she deadpanned, and proceeded to shoot Danse a knowing raise of her eyebrow as he somewhat frantically poured a glass of water and thrust it into Arthur’s hands. The younger man accepted it, swirled the liquid around in the glass as he looked at his hands, but did not drink. 

Arthur cleared his throat, the sound catching painfully as he struggled to speak at his usual volume. “I… I’m glad I finally have your attention,” he looked pointedly at Maureen. “I need to speak to both of you regarding a new project that I have assigned to Proctor Ingram.”

“Arthur, please. Whatever Ingram is working on can wait. Let Knight Fingal and I focus on your recovery first,” Danse said.

“According to Quinlan, you’ve been focused on nothing but my recovery for the better part of the last two weeks, Paladin,” he said, his voice betraying nothing. But it wavered slightly when he spoke again, perhaps from emotion, or perhaps from the fact that this was probably more than he had spoken since becoming ill. “We can’t afford to get sentimental. You need to return to your primary duties.” 

Danse’s mouth was twisting for a few moments before he said “Yes, sir.”

“Speak to Proctor Ingram for the details. This is a sweep and retrieve mission for materials vital to the success of our ultimate objective. I’m confident that this project will spell certain death for the Institute once it’s located. You are both to depart at once.” 

“Are you a werewolf, sir?” Maureen had the audacity to ask before leaving. Arthur looked at Danse with his eyes narrowed, and he knew that she was rapidly approaching the other man’s limit of tolerance for nonsense and insubordination. 

“No, Knight. I’m ill.”

“Are you contagious? Is that why you’re locked in here? Are Danse and I going to descend into living death in a matter of weeks?”

“No, Knight. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir--”

“ _Dismissed_ , Knight. Paladin, a moment alone, if you will.” 

Maureen waggled her eyebrows at Danse as she left. When the door closed behind her, Danse suddenly felt vulnerable behind his several layers of steel and lead. 

He realized now that he was much too close to Arthur’s bed for it to appear normal, and he was going to get shit all the way down to the airport from Maureen. 

Meeting the other man’s heavy lidded gaze was usually an intoxicating endeavor, but this time it felt like Danse was forcing himself to look directly at the sun. Arthur seemed to be expecting him to say something first.

Danse fumbled desperately with his words. “Please drink some water. You look dehydrated.”

“I can’t.” 

“What are you talking about? Please, Arthur. You look--” 

“Miserable?” he snapped, before schooling his features back to steel. “Where have you been, Danse?” he practically breathed, an obvious waver in his words.

“I’ve been--” he stopped short, his throat suddenly seizing up and catching his voice. Instead of trying to talk, he hurried to exit his armor, hoping the hiss of the hydraulics would mask his frantic breathing. The second his boots hit the floor he was stumbling in Arthur’s direction, and found himself on his knees in front of the bed. “I’ve been to Med-Tek Research. Mass Bay Med Center. Kendall Hospital, Milton General, and Medford Memorial. I’ve been to Diamond City, and Bunker Hill, and _fucking_ Covenant. I’ve been all over this fucking wasteland looking for a cure for you. I was only trying to help, I--”

Arthur reached out and grasped the buckle on the collar of his uniform, pulling him upward onto the bed with him. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

“I’m sorry I deserted you, sir.” Danse said against Arthur’s chest.

“Don’t call me that in here,” he replied, voice cracking slightly. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

And Danse did. Forsaking words, he reached up and cupped Arthur’s face, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. Despite all that they had agreed on, the many times they both conceded that their closeness had become a liability and a burden and must be stopped for the good of the Brotherhood, they always ended up here, wrapped up in each other.

“ _Danse_ ,” Arthur said hungrily against his neck, his teeth scraping against the spot under his Paladin’s ear that always made him yelp. 

He put his hands in Arthur’s hair and pulled, knowing this would earn him a moan, although today’s was more of a sharp exhalation of air. Arthur bit at the underside of his wrist in appreciation. 

“Lay back,” Danse ordered, and, like so many times before, Arthur pulled the other man down with him. 

_____________________________________________________________________

“I’m sure it was a very penalizing lecture,” Maureen conceded.

“It was,” was Danse's tight reply. 

“I’m sure he really laid down the law with you. Put you in your place.”

“He did.”

“And I’m sure you flung yourself before him in contrition.”

“Good. That’s what happened.”

There was a moment of blissful quiet that Danse knew enough to cherish before Maureen had leaned in to whisper, “Your hickey is showing.”

Danse clapped a hand to his neck just as Proctor Ingram stalked toward them, pulling the collar of his uniform up. 

“Paladin. Knight,” she greeted. “I trust Elder Maxson has given you an update on this objective?”

“It’s a sweep and retrieve mission for materials. That was all he disclosed to us, Proctor,” Danse said.

“Hm. Well, I might as well tell you the rest. A research patrol recently uncovered the location of some pretty heavy duty tech from before the war. Three prototype model Vertibirds, apparently equipped with gatling lasers and plasma cannons, as well as built in stealth capabilities. They’re gonna be a hell of an asset to the Brotherhood against the Institute. Our biggest advantage comes from above.” 

“Holy shit,” Maureen said, delighted. “I heard rumors about those back in the day! But, no one ever saw one in combat. Where the hell are they hiding?”

“Welp, that’s the trouble. They weren’t completed before the bombs fell. These bad boys are still in fragments, stored in a special underground facility near the Glowing Sea. We’ll have to bring them back piecemeal, and assemble them at the airport. That’s where you two come in. The place is hot. And I mean _hot_. Turrets, Assaultrons, booby traps, you name it. Infiltrating this place is gonna be a nightmare, and dangerous as all hell. You up for it?” Ingram held a holotape in front of Maureen’s face like an owner trying to incentivize a dog to do a trick. 

Maureen was looking at it with moony eyes. “Is that the locator for my Pip Boy..?”

“And the password for the Recon Bunker. Well, Knight? I’m assuming you're up for the challenge?”

Maureen had already snatched the holotape from Ingram’s hands and started running toward the vertibird waiting to relay them to their first mission. “I’m gonna blow shit up with plasma cannons!” she said with glee. 

“Ad Victoriam, sister!” Ingram called after her. “Good luck, Paladin.” 

He saluted before taking his leave.

“Oh. And Danse?” she clapped him on the shoulder and gave him an unsubtle wink. “Nice love bite. It’s good you finally went to see him.”

Danse groaned, hiking his uniform up further as he stalked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up either later tonight or tomorrow. It's a lot shorter than this, and is from Ingram's perspective. It was cut out of this chapter due to it feeling clunky and out of place. But it features some more Quinlan snark, and he tells a funny story about Maxson as a teenager.


	4. Ingram's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingram and Quinlan have a little chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small little interlude. Next chapter is from Deacon's perspective, and our NV heroes finally make their appearance. :)

“Are you going to keep pushing your dinner around, Proctor, or are you perhaps intending to eat it?” 

Ingram turned from her untouched food to see Quinlan leaning against her door frame, glasses low on his nose and a wry smile twisting his features in the low light. She let her sour expression ease slightly. 

“Quinlan. Don’t tell me something else is broken,” Ingram sighed as she returned to her plate. 

“No, no. I was merely looking for a quiet place to smoke. My nook is overrun with chirping squires eager for their first research patrol, you see. Very tedious,” he let himself into her quarters and quietly shut the door. 

“Well, you’re safe here. Whatever that’s worth,” she rested her cheek in her hand, rolling her instamash into a crude mountain shape. 

Quinlan settled into the wobbly chair opposite hers and put his elbows on her small table as he lit his cigarette. He regarded her with his usual mix of condescending wisdom and gentle understanding. “It’s not very becoming for grown women to pine, you know.”

Ingram sighed. “I’m not pining. I’m just...a little disappointed.” 

Quinlan quirked a fine eyebrow. “Oh?”

She was silent for an interlude. “I-- It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it. I’m just being childish.”

He took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled out his nose. “It hardly seems like nothing,” he offered his cigarette in platitude. 

Ingram sighed and took it. She stared at the lit end for a few seconds before mumbling, “Yesterday was my birthday...”

Quinlan had the decency to cringe. “Oh, _Ingram_. I’m so sorry. Did _no one_ remember?”

She shook her head. “Not even Cade.”

He sighed. “I admit I’m quite ashamed of myself, dear. It's a terrible oversight on my part. I’ll have some of my scribes update our records immediately.”

“It’s fine,” she grumbled and passed the cigarette back. “I wasn’t expecting a party or anything.”

“Birthdays aren’t about parties and gifts, Ingram. They’re about the people in your life showing appreciation for another year with you. Given all that you’ve done, and continue to do for the Brotherhood, you certainly deserve some gratitude. I’m sorry again.” 

“I already said it’s fine. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, what with Arthur’s deterioration and all of our equipment going to shit. I’m not mad at anyone.” she returned to her Instamash with a small sigh.

“I intend to make it up to you,” he said.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Hearing about Teagan goading Danse into a rampage today was a good enough present from the universe anyway. Apparently that guy can really shout when he wants to. Wish I could have seen it.”

Quinlan nodded gravely. “I had quarters next to his in the Capital Wasteland. I can attest to his vocal prowess.” He took a drag before muttering, “Arthur’s as well…” 

Ingram grinned. “I’ve heard the same thing from Cade.” She reached out and took the cigarette from Quinlan’s slender fingers. “And, judging by the sight of him today, I think the two of them have finally reunited. Again.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I suppose we’ll see how long this interval lasts before they’re sulking around and avoiding each other again. Love is _such_ a bore.”

“Don’t be such a cynic, Quinlan,” she passed the cigarette back. “Love isn’t boring.”

“It _is_ a liability, though. It seems to me that the biggest lapses in logic in the human psyche originate with two l-words,” he sighed as he put his cigarette out and reached for another. 

“Love and?”

Quinlan quietly said, “Loneliness.”

Ingram sensed raw emotion on the subject, which was a rarity for Quinlan, who was aloof even when recalling watching his father’s murder at the hands of NCR. She opted not to press the subject. “So you really think they’re in love?”

“Danse and Arthur? Hm. I suppose I don’t rightfully know about Danse, though one can’t argue that he’s not devoted to the man. But Arthur is absolutely mad about Danse, that much I’m sure of. I must admit, given all his accomplishments, our dear Elder is remarkably prone to puppy love.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” she chuckled, passing the cigarette back.

He met her eyes for a brief moment, seeming to consider something. He smiled softly as he let loose another stream of smoke. 

“I am.”

Ingram nearly toppled over in her chair. “What?!” she leaned forward. “You had an affair with Elder Maxson?! _How? When_?”

Quinlan was laughing softly to himself. “I wouldn’t call it that. When I was brought to the Citadel by the Elder before him, Landis was his name I believe, he took a remarkable shine to me. Followed me around everywhere when he wasn’t training. Always asking if I needed help, what he could do for me…” 

Ingram’s mouth seemed to have lost the ability to close. “And you let him? You _hate_ kids.”

He considered this. “He was a teenager. About 15, I believe. Of course, at the time I didn’t realize he had feelings for me, however unsophisticated a teen’s love may be. I thought he was just incredibly enthusiastic about Brotherhood affairs… And a little lonely, to be honest. He was the only one in the Citadel his age, and some of the other soldiers thought he got special treatment because of his lineage. He didn’t have any friends. I pitied him.”

Ingram could hardly stifle her laughter, but her respect for Arthur made her try nonetheless. “Maybe he just really wanted to be a field scribe…”

“I thought as much as well. But then…”

Ingram leaned in expectantly.

“He kissed me. On the mouth,” he specified with a shiver of distaste, and Ingram felt a rush of affection for this sexually frightened know it all. “He was quite drunk, in fairness. Stumbled into my office and threw himself into my arms, talking complete nonsense about eternal devotion and ardor. When I rebuffed him, he was sick in my wastebin and wept on the floor for nearly three hours until I could finally coax him to bed.”

Ingram could barely see through her tears of laughter. “Oh, _man_. Elder Maxson?! This was our Elder Maxson? Hahahahaha….” 

“I hope you’ll keep this to yourself.” Quinlan flashed a rare wistful smile.

Ingram nodded, still laughing. “Man. I mean, I think _everyone_ has some embarrassing stories about drinking as a teenager. But holy shit, that’s a doozy.”

“Our Elder never does anything that’s not remarkable. But, at any rate, I must return to my nook to make sure those damn brats haven’t absconded into the night with any more of my Grognaks. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. And Ingram? Never doubt your value in our ranks--happy birthday.”

Ingram was still laughing through tears as her door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit, I have a remarkable affection for Quinlan (at least my version of him). I just remember how much he stood out on my first play though: in an organization that is full of hyper-masculine warmongers (with the greatest respect to BOS fans of course), he just seemed... out of place? Even though I can admit he's super utilitarian, and a little remote and chilly as an entity. 
> 
> This interlude ended up in the final draft due to its proximity to home in my personal life. This year, all my friends forgot my birthday as well :( And, when I was childishly sulking about it, my dad told me an extremely funny story about his first romantic escapade in high school to cheer me up. It worked. :) 
> 
> Poor Arthur... Don't drink too much, kids... XD


	5. Cade's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debated for a while about posting this little blurb, but I think the next two chapters (one of which is being edited) wouldn't really make sense without a key little tidbit mentioned here. Next chapter is from Deacon's perspective. :) 
> 
> And may I give a rich and hearty thanks to all those who have left comments and kudos... It means a great deal to me to think that people are taking time out of their busy lives to read this little story of mine. Much love :)

Teagan was examining the defective laser pistol Danse had hurled at him when Cade found the man hunched over in his workshop. 

“Any luck?” he ventured after a few moments of silence. 

“It’s definitely been tampered with,” Teagan grumbled. He put his magnifying glass down and looked at Cade with a grim expression. 

Cade sucked in a breath of air through his nose. “Tampered with? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It _means_ someone’s fucked with it. And now it’s broken. I’ve had almost twenty other cases of the same brahminshit today, and three good soldiers are dead because of it. I reckon it’s time to put out an alert to all personnel. We may even have to start restricting access to the armory.”

Cade swore under his breath. “This isn’t good. Have you spoken to Elder Maxson about this yet?”

Teagan shook his head. “The kid has enough to worry about right now.” He set the defective weapon aside and picked up another one. He held it up to his eyes. “Is he doing better today at least?”

“Yes actually. I just looked in on him. He seems to be incredibly...heartened by Paladin Danse’s visit today--” 

Teagan snorted. “I can imagine.”

“--although his physical condition has yet to show any improvements, it must be said. I have to go in periodically and put him on a drip in order to hydrate him. Every time he tries to drink anything he starts to hemorrhage, and it’s getting worse every day,” he sighed. 

“Poor kid,” Teagan shook his head grimly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I still think he’s a dickhead lost in the woods but... I don’t wish living death on him. Hopefully Danse and Maureen can finally turn up some treatment…”

“Speaking of Danse…” Cade said dryly. 

“Don’t say it, don’t say it… I know, I owe him an apology. It’s just… He’s so easy, you know? Question his field competence, question the Brotherhood’s objective, question Maxson, and...kaboom. Guy’s like explosive clockwork. Also, might I remind you that _he’s_ the one who insulted me first? He called me a liar, a saboteur, and a _bilge rat_. Who the fuck talks like that? I’ll tell you who. Someone who’s asking to be messed with, Cade. I’m just fulfilling my civic duties is all.”

“Civic duties? Is that what you call acting like a clown while hiding behind a metal cage?” Cade said, but without malice. “Well, I suppose I won’t tell Elder Maxson about the confrontation, at any rate. We know whose side he’ll take.” 

Teagan mumbled something along the lines of _his indignant lady-love_ before grabbing another rifle to inspect. He sighed. “Have you seen my assistant? Paladin Morgan? He’s been gone all day, the lazy prick. I’ve half a mind to suspend his goddamn leave.”

Cade shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since he came in last week when he got his hand crushed by a mirelurk hunter. I believe he tried to punch it to death? Yes, that was it. Responsible fellow. Stalwart. Brave and true.” 

“He said it was giving him cheek, and had to perish like the rest of them,” Teagan chuckled. “For all his faults, he can make up a damn good excuse when he wants to. I’d like to see the one he comes up with for why he hasn’t been keeping track of the scribes who have been using the armory all month. I want to find out who’s messing with my equipment, and those scribes are my prime suspects…”

Cade looked a little shaken. “You’d best not let Laurence know that you’re planning on implicating his department for a breach in protocol. And I certainly won’t be the messenger he shoots about it, either.”

“Quinlan needs to slow his roll before he bursts a vein. It’s not like I’m saying he had a part in it.” Teagan said hotly. “As if we need someone else on this ship shuffling off into an early grave.”

“Don’t talk like that, Ned. Elder Maxson is nowhere near the grave. Besides, I thought you were hopeful about contacting the Followers of the Apocalypse. You said they were reliable,” he folded his arms expectantly.

“They are, they are…. Usually…” he said under his breath. 

“Usually?” 

“Eh, you know. Most of them are good people with good intentions, trying to do their best for the world around them. But. On occasion, they’ve been known to go off the goddamn deep end and start to dream that they’re the reincarnation of some pre-war dictator. It’s a tossup, I reckon. But hey. It’s not like we’re in the position to be picky right now.” 

Cade buried his face in his hands and took a long, deep breath. “This excursion to the Commonwealth has been an abject disaster at every turn. We should never have left the Capitol wasteland.... I’m going to see if Elder Maxson needs another round of hydration before bed. Good luck with your guns.” 

With that, he tucked his clipboard under his arm and shuffled toward the door, looking as though twenty years worth of stress had suddenly descended upon him. 

“Send that prick Morgan to me if you see him, will you? I swear, I don’t know what I expected when we started recruiting wastelanders. It’s almost like some random courier picked up in the desert can’t be trusted with even trace amounts of responsibility.” Teagan drawled.


End file.
